Reflection Poems from my Solitude Retreat

Here are some photo and poem glimpses into my solitude retreat:

My home for five nights. This was my first time in the cabin called "Grace" (all my previous retreats have been in "Joy" and "Wonder")

the "pregnant" tree outside my cabin window 

the sitting area (I spent a lot of time in that chair!) leading into the kitchen area

the desk area

my view out the window

All of the cabins at Cedars of Peace have a journal where fellow sojourners staying in that cabin share their reflections. I always read through all the previous journal entries and then add my own at the end of my stay.

I usually reflect a lot via poetry in between my reading, singing, and hiking:

Connected (8-23-22)

My connectedness brain is seeing on new levels

    how trees are connected to each other and to us

    how bees are connected to 1/3 of every mouthful of food

    how body and soul are connected

    how sleep and spiritual growth are connected

When I haphazardly pull a leaf off a tree,

    it hampers its ability to produce food and grow

When I kill a bee to keep it from stinging me,

    it can no longer pollinate the nearby plants

When I sit sedentarily all day to sharpen my mind,

    I'm lessening the likelihood that my mind will have a working body

        forty years from now

When I wake up super early to read my Bible,

    I'm less effective in living out what I've read

        because I'm too tired and cranky

What I do

    affects more than just me

I am to grow up in every way...

    so that

        when each part is working properly

            the body grows

                so that

            it builds itself up in love

Family and friends and fellow believers

Trees and bees and chimpanzees

Body and mind and spirit

All are connected

And it matters, in this community,

    that I do my part

    that I am rooted and established

        because You have plans for my branches (and roots!)

Solitude Day Two (8-24-22)

Here's what my Tuesday/Day Two looked like:

    finally woke to light instead of dark, so I got up

    walked to Joseph's Lake

        (stopped there because my socks were too wet to get to Mary's)

    wrote in gratitude journal, finished Amazing Love Story

    observed and reflected about the dewy spider webs    

    headed back when my hoodie got too hot

    took communion at some point

    enjoyed a big bowl of oatmeal

    wrote song for John 15:18-27

    took a shower and braided my hair

    read first eight chapters of The Fisherman's Lady

    wrote out beginning of John 15

    ate some crackers and hummus

    walked to Cedars library to look for Lewin and Berry poems

    came back with Hidden Life of Trees and art supplies

    read eight chapters of Hidden Life of Trees

    ate jam bar + yogurt + coconut + walnuts

    sang John 15 song again

    read through my old journal entries

    read two chapters of The Good and Beautiful God

    walked to Mary's Lake and reflected on the sycamore swing

    closed the windows and curtains

    fixed more delicious burritos

    perused Grace journals again

    read a chapter of Holier than Thou

    sang and played praise songs 

           None Like You, God of Wonders, Praise Be, Holy Holy)

    stopped when fingers hurt (for lack of callouses)

    wrote more poems

    read through John 14

    brushed teeth and headed for bed!

Quantifiable (8-27-22)

I feel so much more productive 

    reading books

    or writing poetry

    than I do sitting

                    quieting

                     noticing

                    sensing

                    beholding

and perhaps it's because

    reading and writing

        have a tangible end-PRODUCT

            # of books read

            # of poems read

How can I quantify the value

    of sitting still surrounded by nature?

Is it any less valuable

    when there's nothing visible to show

        for my time spent?

Yet soul care often can be quantified

    and being still is a prerequisite for knowing God

Here Comes the Night (8-22-22)

The sun is sinking low on the horizon

    painting the countryside golden

And as I bask in the warmth and beauty 

    of the sunset

        I'm all too well aware

        which is my least favorite time here

You've delivered me out of so many fears

        and panicked anxiety

        and worst case scenarios

        and step-step-steps outside my window (was it a deer?)

    since my first nights here

But still,

    I dread the nighttime

    just as I dread change

                        and childbirth

                        and getting older

                       (and everyone around me getting older, too)

I know You're faithful

and I know You're with me

and I know You've gently led me through the night here

    but that's part of my fear --

        the fear of what You might ask me to do

            in the middle of the night

Sometimes You whisper to me in the middle of the night

    and I'm learning to be obedient

        but that doesn't make it any easier

            to step out into the dark,

                terrified of what's lurking in the shadows

                    but knowing You're holding my hand

You taught me trust and obedience then,

    but can I get a different lesson this time around?

    or maybe the same lesson but at a different time of day?

            that the sunset ushers in the night

Holy God (8-23-22)

My praise muscles have become weak

    Is it atrophy from apathy?

    Lack of regular times of worship with fellow believers?

    Too much of an inward focus -- on me and my needs?

    Singing primarily the verses I'm working on?

Jackie Hill Perry is taking me on a tour of Your holiness --

    how complete transcendent

                            other-worldly

                            self-existent

                            above all

                            higher, greater

                                You are

King Uzziah, like all other earthly kings before and since,

    was limited by scope and time

        52 years

        (a lot to me,

        a blink to You)

It was the year he died that Isaiah saw the High King

    We throw around titles like "King of kings" and "Almighty"

          without stopping to ponder them

Holy isn't just an attribute -- it's You

    You are holy

    holiness = You

    and You don't switch in and out of attributes

        one day loving

        the next day vengeful

    It's all You all the time

My response?

    Praise. There is no one like You!

    Repentance. I am a woman of unclean lips.

    A desire for holiness. Set me apart for Your purposes.

"Better" (8-25-22)

 

I confess

    that sometimes I consider myself superior

        when I'm doing something like

            reading a ton of books

            memorizing the book of John

            spending days in silence and solitude

(please forgive me)

but I got to thinking...

    which is more holy?

        me spending these days cloistered away with my Maker?

        or Lucas sacrificing time, energy, and sanity so I could be here?

Is one "better" than the other?

Is one more esteemed or valued?

Oh, that I wouldn't live as Judge

                                    playing the comparison game

                   constantly weighing where I fit on my self-made hierarchy

Nature Poems from my Solitude Retreat

I recently spent 6 glorious days at a solitude retreat at Cedars of Peace in Nerinx, Kentucky.  This was my 10th retreat in one of the cabins there. Each time, it's a different experience, but all of them, spanning across all four seasons, have included time in nature -- observing, noticing, slowing, wondering, reflecting, connecting... Here are some of my nature-themed poems from my August retreat:

Dewy Spiderweb (8-23-22)

Dew

Ew!

Now I have wet shoes!

Spiderwebs

Blech!

Better knock it down quick!

Yet this morning

I'm seeing the wonder of dew when

Once invisible web designs

are now thinly illumined.

Twenty micro droplets

on an inch of webbing

Thirty ever-widening arcs

in each tiny section

Twenty-one sections

give-or-take a few

all now marvelously highlighted

by the simplicity of dew

Four mini flying bugs

caught while traveling by her

I guess the spider's goal

was for more than me to admire

Swaying with the swing

Strong yet delicate

Even without a photo remembrance

I hope I won't soon forget.

The Trail Behind Me (8-23-22)

I can see her overnight trail

    from this post

    to that plant

    and around a bit

    before making the leap to a sister plant

    and after the frame was in place

    back and forth

    criss-cross again and again

    occasionally adding an anchor for strength

And my day-to-day life

    feels a bit like that spider's 

    A lot of back and forth

    down a little, over a little,

    and back again

    and the same repetitive tasks

    and going through the motions

But what I don't realize

    is that there's a trail behind me

    and that all this back-and-forth

    that seems mundane and repetitive

    is weaving a masterpiece

If I neglect the back and forth,

    the world will miss out

    on the design

    I was designed to contribute.

The Web Doing Its Work (8-23-22)

It's work to weave a spider web

    Busy, busy back and forth

                        over and under

                        in and out

    but now I don't see the spider anywhere

While she rests from her labors,

    her web is working for her

    and it will be worth it

        when she wakes up to a breakfast

            already caught for her

It's work to plant an orchard

    tilling the soil

    planting the seeds

    tending the saplings

    protecting, scaffolding

    watering, watering, watering

Eventually, rest does come

    and the trees continue to grow

        even while the farmer sleeps

    but, unlike the spider's overnight harvest,

        it will take years

            for the farmer to ever taste

                the fruits from his labor

            but when the apples are gathered by the bushel,

                it will be worth it.

It's work to raise a family

    setting routines into place

    responding with grace yet again

    washing the dishes, knowing they will soon by dirty again

    correcting and training in righteousness

    fostering a mutual love among siblings

    allowing more and more responsibilities and independence over time

    teaching them all they need to know to launch successfully

And sometimes the growth is visible

    and sometimes I wonder if it's worth the effort

        but I come to the point

            when I have to step back

                and pray that the web I've created

                    will do what it was meant to do

                    even if I don't see the results overnight

                and that, in all my failings    

                                        and inadequacies,

                    my orchard will bear fruit

                and that, years from now,

                    I will know that all the mundane

                                                        ordinary

                                                        grueling work

                                                I put my hands to today

                                                    was worth it.

Tree Education (8-23-22)

Pre-Covid (and pre-1000 hours outside challenge and pre-Seek app)

    the only tree I could identify by sight

         was a maple

        (because we had two in the front yard of my childhood home)
I'm still quite a novice

    at identifying trees

        but I'm on the path of learning

And in the process

    I've come to love two trees in particular:
        the tulip poplar

        and the sycamore

I became enraptured with the tulip poplar

    when I kept noticing the telltale green, yellow, and orange blossoms

        on the path during a spring hike

        (not realizing at first that they came from above, not below)

    I saw more at Bernheim Forest

        (where another curious hiker found and shared the name with me)

    and there's even one just down the street from me.

And I remember my father-in-law

    supplying the name "sycamore"

        for the stately central tree in our backyard forest

I love the patchwork white, cream, and gray bark

    especially as I sit on the sycamore swing at Cedars of Peace

And now I share my new-found tree love with my boys:
    See that green, yellow, and orange blossom up there?

        That's a tulip poplar!

    See that patchy cream bark?

        That's a sycamore!

And we've felt the poke of holly leaves

    and found geocaches nestled in cedars

    and thrown maple propellers high in the air

    and hunted for acorn caps beneath oaks

My education

    is becoming their education

I don't want them to grow up to be adults

    who know only one tree.

Color Combination (8-26-22)

"I love the combination

    of a bright-blue sky

        over a canopy of lush green.

For me, this color combination

    is Nature at its most idyllic

    and the most relaxing color combination I can imagine."

After reading this,

    I looked up to take in

        that blue-green combination

            in front of me

        but since the sycamore leaves blocked the sky,

    I looked first at the reflection in the lake

And it was there, in the lake mirror,

    that I saw a rainbow!

What?!

There's hasn't been a lick of rain in the sky

    or else I would know to look

Rainbows can be the result of rain + sun

    but they can also be the result of a loving Creator

        longing to showcase His love for me, 

            here on Mary's Lake

The shade

The setting sun

The breeze

The rainbow reflection

    (dare I say, an even better color combination than blue-green)

All gifts

    from You to me

I love You, too :-)

Poetry Prompts

I've carted this little spiral around for too many years to count -- from one move to another, from one classroom to another, just waiting for the day when I would put it to use.  I assumed I'd be using it for its intended purpose -- in the classroom.  A couple weeks ago, though, as I was sorting through the never-ending piles in my laundry room, I stumbled upon it.  I really should just get rid of this. I'm never going to use it. All it is is clutter.  But then I decided to give it one more chance.  To use the prompts for poems of my own this year.  It will get me out of my non-writing funk and out of my always-writing-the-same-thing funk. 

Prompt- You have been invited to a party for poets only. The invitation requests that you respond in the form of a poem. Write a short poem accepting the invitation.

(poem written on 1-2-22)

An invitation for poets, you say?

    For dreamers and wishers

        and hopers and thinkers?

    For word-weavers

        and insight-illuminators

        and bridge-builders

        and thought-tinkerers

    For those who precipitate poems

        when their heads get too heavy

        and their minds get too muddled

        and the only remedy

            is pen to paper

                to soak and nourish the ground

                    and the roots below

    When it has been too long,

        the roots cry out for reflection

        the stems plead for sustenance

    And this cycle

        of thinking and mulling and writing it out

        of evaporating and condensing and precipitating

            is woven into my very fibers

    That's who you're talking about?

Then that's me.

I accept your invitation.

Please reserve a seat.

I'm coming.

Indeed, I'm on my way.

        

We, the Class of 2022, ...

In 2012,

    2022 seemed far away,

    but as the calendar turned to 2022,

    I think back to my first-ever class

        where, daily, these third graders would recite together (complete with motions):

            We, the class of 2022, 

                will do our best

                    so we will get good grades

                    so we will get to college

            We will have fun

               but get the work done.

    It was their mission statement

        that we crafted together

            and it sounds good as an end-in-mind

                but our daily reality was far from it.

That first semester of teaching was the darkest season of my life.

    I was a shell of a person,

        barely putting one foot in front of the other,

        anxious when every weekend would inevitably wind down,

        dreading yet another Monday

            where I was failing as a first-year teacher

    I had zero control of my classroom,

        and there was very little learning taking place.

    In many ways,

        I failed them.

And, ten years later,

    in this, their graduation year,

    I wonder how many of them have "made it"

I wonder about Michael, Lindsey, Jamarion, Alora, Dewey, Shantel, De'Myah

    Are they still in school?

    Are they getting good grades?

    Are they persevering and rising above their challenges?

Sadly, I feel that, instead of helping them rise above,

    I gave them yet another obstacle to overcome.

(poem 1-7-22)

(This was one of my first days of teaching, back when I was hopeful and idealistic. It was the calm before the storm.)